In the Long Run

I awoke this morning to hear the radio announcer list the closures due to blizzard conditions—the public schools, the courthouse, city hall….and the YMCA. No work! I snuggled back into my covers for a satisfying reprieve. An hour later, I finally rolled out of bed, and contemplated my day. It was much too snowy to run outside, so I decided to do a BOSU workout after I shoveled some of the driveway.

I was astonished at the amount of snow—probably close to two feet where it had drifted. My husband and I took turns with our one very heavy metal shovel (it seems our second newer and lighter snow shovel sprouted legs and walked off some sunny day in the last few weeks.) The snow kept coming down, and the wind kept blowing more snow onto my previously cleared path. When half of the driveway was somewhat clear, my husband ventured out to town in search of another shovel, which it had become obvious we would need.

Back in the house, I puttered about and made some phone calls, putting off the BOSU workout. When I looked out an hour later, the driveway was covered again! I went back out and attacked the new drifts. My husband returned with two shovels (after going to three stores), the price of which I’m afraid to ask. We continued shoveling, making only a little progress, as the snow kept falling.

Two hours later, I convinced Big Guy to help me battle the forces of nature. By this time, BOSU was out of the question. I could see that shoveling snow would be my never-ending workout today. Big Guy and I went over to a single friend’s house to see if she needed some help. Apparently she had gone to work, and now there was a 4-foot drift in her driveway where her truck had been. That mound was quite demanding on the deltoids, but we attacked it vigorously and completed the job. We trekked back home, only to find our driveway blanketed with another two inches of the heavy wet stuff.

And so the day went. We did a couple more “maintenance runs” on the driveway. We’ve given up on the sidewalk. It drifts so badly, it’s not worth the effort. This is definitely one of the top three snowstorms I’ve experienced in the twenty-five years I’ve lived here. The forecast is for another 6 inches of snow, along with wind, tonight, and we’ve heard the schools are closed again tomorrow. I suppose Big Guy and I will be working out together again tomorrow.

Pictures to follow.

Posted by Cyppy at 9:58 PM  2 comments

I don’t consider myself to be very politically involved, probably due to a lack of interest, or laziness, or both. However, I recently heard of a United States senator who impressed me.

Tom Coburn is a physician, and the junior Republican senator from Oklahoma. (He was actually born in Casper, Wyoming—interesting.) From reports I’ve read, he is a politician with integrity. (Apparently that just might not be a contradiction in terms.) Coburn was first elected to the House of Representatives in 1994, and re-elected for two terms, after which he did not run, keeping his promise to only serve three terms. That move right there earns respect in my book.

Coburn won a Senate seat in 2004, and has been a conservative voice in Washington. He doesn’t play by the “politics as usual” rules that we, the common voters, have come to expect, and in some ways, tacitly approve, by our apathy. He is one of seven Senators on the Fiscal Watch Team which identifies and decries government fiscal irresponsibility.

Coburn is a man with pure desires and goals--he says his work is to ensure that the government works efficiently and effectively. Coburn battles against pork barrel spending and earmarking in the federal budget, and he has introduced legislation to reduce overall federal government spending. On his website, he has a counter illustrating the magnitude of the national debt. It increases by thousands of dollars each second! Coburn doesn’t sponsor projects that will only benefit his state, or worry about taking credit for projects to insure his re-election. He genuinely seems to care about upholding the Constitution, and making the entire country a better place to live.

I was pleasantly surprised to read on his website that this last week he introduced the “Universal Health Care Choice and Access Act,” a comprehensive health care reform plan. Health insurance is an issue with which I’m dealing right now, and I generally agree with Coburn’s free market proposals to health care.

Dr. Coburn from Oklahoma, you’re OK by me.

Posted by Cyppy at 8:55 PM  1 comments

I left my car at a windshield repair shop on my way to work this morning, and told the technician I could be back in about 3 hours.

He was very efficient and polite. “No problem. We’ll have your windshield chip repaired in about 45 minutes.” He sounded quite confident for having never even seen the damage.

Indeed, when I returned this afternoon, my car was parked in what was undoubtedly the “completed jobs” parking area. I went into the office to collect my key. As I was paying for the work, I noticed a big sign in the repair bay area, describing the types of chips, or dings: bullseye, star, half moon, and combination.

Trying to make pleasant conversation, and out of curiosity, I asked what type of chip my windshield had had. Mike was still very efficient and polite, although not overly congenial. “It was a star with two tails. That will be $47.70.”

Back in my car, I surveyed the work. I frowned a little as I noted that I could definitely still see where the chip had been. The original damage had been a mere ¼ inch or so big, and I had expected the repair to be less visible. It actually looked bigger than the original ding. In fact the blemish now looked more like a half-moon/star combination! And then I counted, not just two, but FIVE tails radiating out from the star!

I guess I’ll play the glad game. I’m glad that the chip is down low where it isn’t in my sightline, and I’m glad that the repair has a lifetime guarantee. I’ll just live with my 5-tailed shooting star.

Posted by Cyppy at 9:45 PM  3 comments

Home party invitations invoke a sense of obligation and guilt in me. Over the years I’ve chafed at feeling obligated to attend home parties that offered everything from Tupperware to candles to stitchery kits. Avoiding guilt has frequently motivated me to agree to attend, and it has also invariably led me to buy items at the parties that I didn’t really need or want. I’ve been frustrated that I can’t stifle these feelings of obligation and guilt. Fortunately, the home party has almost disappeared due to the changing dynamics of our society. Or so I thought.

After a recent fitness class that I taught, one of the participants approached me. “I have a question,” she said, and smiled. I thought it would be about target heart rate zones or exercise intensity, which we had been talking about that day, and waited courteously for her to proceed.

“How would you like to be a model in my portfolio?” She was cheerful and positive, and didn’t even wait for me to answer. She continued, “I’ll work with you on your makeup, and then we’ll take a picture. You can use the photo for your business card—you have one, don’t you? And I can keep your picture in my portfolio. I don’t have a personal trainer in my portfolio yet—that would be great!”

I instantly smelled a rat…or a home party. A warning sign flashed in my brain as I recalled she was a representative for a cosmetics company. But I also felt those twinges of obligation welling up. This was a class member, after all. A person that I was supposed to nurture and encourage.

“Uh…what’s this for exactly, and how long would it take?” I was mentally kicking myself for starting to cave without any sort of fight.

As she described the “girly fun” we would have in our hour-long appointment to beautify me, I suddenly found my backbone. I confronted her as politely as possible, and smiled sweetly. “Is this session to introduce me to your products? I really don’t think I would be interested, thank you.” She persisted, but I resisted.

And she backed down! I escaped without committing to the session of cleansing, exfoliating, and freshening of the fine lines and pores of my aging skin. I suppose I could have used a makeover, but what if I’d then felt obligated to become a beauty consultant?! No, thank you. I don’t need, or want, a pink Cadillac.

Posted by Cyppy at 9:33 PM  1 comments

I often complain that my son spends too much time playing computer or video games. As his week-long spring break approached, I wondered how to effectively motivate him to do something more active and constructive. I needn’t have bothered. He and his friends had their own imaginative ideas.

For the last two nights, an animated and rowdy group of his friends have gang busted the house: a motley crew focused on one objective—to videotape the next great award-winning movie (or at least, a video worth posting on YouTube.) They were noisy, they were boisterous, and at times they were even unintentionally slightly destructive.

But I didn’t object. I was pleased that they were engaging in a creative large muscle motor activity. Although Big Guy didn’t officially announce that it was a “closed set”, I shied away from the action to give them some privacy. The edgy drama dragged on well into the late evening hours both nights, and at times, the shouting, pounding, slamming, laughing, running, jumping, and shrieking became tedious, but also aroused my curiosity.

I peeked in on some of the takes, but was not much closer to understanding the plot of their masterpiece than I had been when I was merely privy to the boisterous auditory clues. So here is my Balderdash version of what I think their movie might be about:

Armed only with stop signs and reflective vests, beefy construction workers come to the aid of a buxom lass in baby doll pajamas and houseshoes who has overdosed on Ecstasy after being accosted by a werewolf driving a white Ford truck.

Sound intriguing? I’ll let you know when it premieres on YouTube (or at the Sundance Festival in the Independent Film competition.)

Posted by Cyppy at 8:18 PM  1 comments

I guess I’m not done complaining yet. I’m upset that my health insurance premium is increasing—again. I am rankled by the arrogance of the company. Here is the explanation given for the increase:

“The vast majority of the premiums we collect are paid out in claims. Without a rate adjustment, sufficient revenue would not be available to cover contingency reserves and administrative expenses. Further, the rate of inflation in health care costs and utilization continues to rise at rates exceeding the average rate of inflation. When combined, these factors make it necessary to adjust the premium of our members.”

They paint themselves as benevolent and benign. I wonder if a healthy profit margin entered into their factoring. My outrageously high premiums and crippling deductibles cause me to more seriously consider support for a universal health plan. But for now, I’ll exercise my only free market trump card—I’ll find a different health insurance provider.

Labels: insurance, premiums

Posted by Cyppy at 9:22 PM  3 comments

Similarly, a Kansas City pastor said he got a bright idea for his church while he was in the shower. He asked his congregation to wear purple rubber bracelets as part of a campaign to eliminate complaints, criticism, gossip, and sarcasm. Those who wear the bracelet pledge to stop complaining for 21 days. When I initially heard the story, I thought it was an interesting proposal. Certainly the world would be a better place if all that negativity was neutralized.

I offhandedly wondered if I could adhere to a 3-week challenge of no complaints. “I don’t think it would be so hard to do,” I reasoned. “Basically, I’m fairly cheerful and positive anyway.”

But then I started to think of all the things about which I quite commonly whine. The neighbors’ dogs. The cold weather in the winter. The people who stand me up for appointments at work. The potholes in the neighborhood streets. My opponent’s illegal pickleball serve. The sunspots that cause static in the television picture when I’m trying to watch my favorite reality show. A slow computer or internet connection. Gray hairs, old eyes, creaky knees, and cellulite. The neighbors’ dogs.

I realized it feels quite comfortable to complain about these minor things. In fact, it feels good to do just a little venting. Maybe that’s why my son didn’t like to see his dad’s “No Whining” pin. It criticized one of his strategies for dealing with childhood frustrations.

Guess I won’t be slipping on a purple “Complaint Free” bracelet any time soon, nor receiving inspirational, world-changing ideas in the shower. In fact, if you’ve got a minute, let me tell you how annoyed I get with the miserable and uncomfortable showers I’m forced to take if I follow my teenage son’s interminably long showers after he’s all but drained the water heater, leaving his poor mother to shiver and shake under a nearly frigid spray…

Posted by Cyppy at 10:12 PM  2 comments

Our doorbell has been broken for several months. My husband attempted to fix it, but concluded that the wiring would be too intricate and extensive. So we decided to make our first trip to the brand new Home Depot in town to find a suitable replacement.

We found the aisle that contained several models of wireless musical chime doorbells, ranging in price from about twenty bucks to over $100. The doorbell display included a push-button demo panel of all the doorbell chimes. One of the more expensive models was encased in a lovely cherry wood finish box, with the traditional Westminster chime, similar to a Grandfather clock. I was surprised that my husband picked that model, because I didn’t think he would possibly care about the looks of the appliance. After all, it would be virtually out of sight high up on the wall in the hall. The previous housing for the now broken electric doorbell had just been no-nonsense cream-colored plastic, and I don’t think he once uttered any objections to its lack of chic.

I was surprised by our role reversal when I was attracted to a model that cost much less, and would never win awards for style. But oh my! My model had a 48 musical chime song list! There were tunes ranging from frivolous to festive, from somber to silly to sweet. There were holiday songs, patriotic songs, religious songs, sports songs, and classical pieces. There was even a “knock on door” sound, and a “barking dog” (that one I’d never use—we already have the live version in the neighbors’ dogs.)

“Oh, the possibilities!” I reveled. When Big Guy’s friends come over, we could use “Hail! Hail! The Gang’s All Here”, or the “Sports Charge”. If a door-to-door solicitor comes, we could greet him with “La Cucaracha”. How about “On Top of Old Smoky” as a blunt message to nicotine-addicted acquaintances? And if we were ever to have a Jewish Bar Mitzvah celebration at our house, we could use “Ha Va Naglia”. My husband was amused at my enthusiasm, and willingly bought my new toy and installed it.

So let me know when you’re coming over. I’ll select a door chime to match your personality, or the occasion—whatever you choose. Right now I’ve got to go change it for Big Guy, who has just finished the 4-day run of the high school musical. I’m thinking, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

Posted by Cyppy at 10:30 PM  1 comments

In an email, my son mentioned a story about a high school student who was reprimanded for alleged hate speech. I was astonished to see that nearly 3000 messages were posted in less than a day on a message board about the story. Ironically, many of the messages, some condemning and some condoning the disciplinary actions taken on the girl, contained hate speech themselves.

It reminds me of the irony of political correctness. There are certain things we, as a society, are not supposed to say or do or admit to thinking, because they are not “politically correct.” And if we do, we are castigated publicly as being intolerant and discriminatory and close-minded. But why is it not intolerant for the PC gang to disparage and condemn my opinion if it happens to contradict theirs? Often, it seems, politically correct guidelines are based on arrogant and self-serving interests of those who advocate them.

I agree that prejudice and intolerance are divisive attitudes that can ravel the fabric of society. People should strive to respect each other, and acknowledge and appreciate beneficial diversity. But I contend that not all behavior or opinions deemed politically incorrect are true prejudice or intolerance—rather, some can more correctly be defined as contrary beliefs held by rational, intelligent people who have substantive moral grounds for respectfully defying such “political correctness”. I should not be labeled politically incorrect, or maligned just because I disagree with a popular interpretation of morality. Those who do so are hypocritically intolerant of me.

Posted by Cyppy at 9:31 PM  6 comments